Softfoot of Silver Creek

Over the laughter of a nearby waterfall, over a long roar the distant herds of bison that crowded the prairie, and over the oily creak of his knife on a sharp stone on his knee, his keen ear knew the sound of her light stepped as she crawled out of the pines into a sunny glade on a bluff. He didn’t turn around, he only dropped the stone, threw back the thick locks that retreated, his long black hair, and then, with his thumb, meditatively checked the razor blade his blade Sitting very motionless, he raised his dreamy eyes to look forward through a sparkling stream and a billowing prairie to the dark sky behind the purple mountain.